


Shadow Traveling for Dummies

by minusoneday



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minusoneday/pseuds/minusoneday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All things considered, it doesn’t take long for shadow traveling to come as naturally to Nico as breathing. When he first started out, there was always the chance of accidentally ending up in China or Australia or, in one particularly traumatizing instance, a girls’ locker room somewhere in Indiana, but he has a much better handle on things now. In fact, after lurching his way back to Camp Half-Blood with the Athena Parthenos in tow, it’s safe to say he’s basically a professional. </p>
<p>That doesn’t mean he’s entirely past making mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Traveling for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning - I initially intended for this to be a chaptered work, and though I'd love for that to eventually be the case, I've been stalled on it for a while now. That being said, I think this section works fairly well as a standalone, so I don't feel too guilty posting it. Better posted to AO3 than forever languishing in my WIP folder, right? (Right.) I'm marking it as complete for now, but I'm hoping to come back and add to this someday soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

All things considered, it doesn’t take long for shadow traveling to come as naturally to Nico as breathing. When he first started out, there was always the chance of accidentally ending up in China or Australia or, in one particularly traumatizing instance, a girls’ locker room somewhere in Indiana, but he has a much better handle on things now. In fact, after lurching his way back to Camp Half-Blood with the Athena Parthenos in tow, it’s safe to say he’s basically a professional. 

That doesn’t mean he’s entirely past making mistakes. When he’s really tired, he finds he doesn’t always end up where he intends to go. Panic generally has the same effect. There's also the unwelcome side effect of occasionally passing out upon arrival, if he hasn't properly estimated things like distance, or how much energy he actually has.

He’s pretty sure it would be less of an issue if exhaustion and panic just meant a few more run-ins with shrieking, half-naked girls, but that kind of luck just isn’t on Nico’s side.

*

The first time he ends up in Percy Jackson’s bedroom, it’s after an unfortunate encounter with a flock of Stymphalian birds. He’s somewhere outside of Moscow, where he’s been wandering around a pretty desolate-looking field. He does that sometimes - picks a spot he’s never been and just goes, content to spend his time exploring. Shadow travel is one of the few perks, after all, of being a son of Hades, so he might as well make the most of it. It's certainly a better option than enrolling himself in a high school somewhere. He doesn't fit in at either of the two demigod camps; there's no way he'd survive being stuck in a classroom with twenty other perfectly normal fifteen-year-olds.

Besides, he’s come across some cool things this way, when he doesn’t have any particular destination in mind, and that's not something he's willing to give up.

This specific Moscow field, however, is looking like a bust. There’s nothing but a packed, dirt trail cutting through acres and acres of tall, scrubby grass, with an occasional pocket of trees here and there. It’s chilly, even though it’s summer and the sun is burning brightly, and Nico’s regretting not bringing his aviator jacket. The short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing isn’t doing much to keep out the breeze.

Nico’s passing a small copse of sickly-looking trees, thinking that he might pop back into the city for lunch, when he hears a rustle. He stills, then turns around in a slow circle, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary; no people, and no monsters.

He hears another soft sound, and he whirls, gaze landing on the nearest tree, maybe thirty feet away. Its branches are moving just slightly, and Nico’s shoulders relax. It’s probably just a bird, or a squirrel. He’s pretty sure they have squirrels in Moscow. Sure enough, the branches shake once more and then a bird flaps free of the tree’s leaves. Nico glances at it idly, and it takes about three seconds too long for it to sink in that the bird is metallic, glinting in the sunlight.

With a horrendous shriek, it launches itself at him.

Nico grabs for his sword, but the bird is quick, raking knife-like talons down the center of his back, the claws cutting easily through his shirt. Nico spins, slashing at the creature - a Stymphalian bird, he notes wildly - but it simply dances out of the reach of his too-short sword. It darts in as soon as his guard is down, its celestial bronze beak tearing into his skin. With a grunt, Nico thrusts his sword up, skewering the bird through its chest. He clamps his eyes shut as it explodes with a squawk into a shower of dust.

He’s breathing heavily, and he can feel blood oozing down the furrows the bird carved into his back. When he looks down, he can see another nasty-looking gash on his upper arm, right where its beak had dug in. 

“Hah,” he says weakly, wincing as each panted breath shifts his t-shirt painfully against his injuries. “Take that, you overgrown chicken nugget.”

As if in response to his sarcasm, an entire flock of Stymphalian birds explodes out of the tree stand, arrowing straight for him.

Nico does the smart thing. He runs.

It’s just his luck that it’s high noon - hardly shadows to speak of, especially in an area this flat - and so he tears through the countryside, desperately keeping an eye out for anything that might be casting a shadow. He’s severely hampered by the birds, which are not only fast and vicious, but can apparently also shoot their feathers like _arrows_. 

Nico’s got a cluster of those feathers in the back of his left shoulder, another few low down on his waist, and one particularly painful one in his right thigh, but he doesn’t have time to focus on the pain right now. He ducks and weaves, the birds flying more thickly around him like a descending cloud of doom.

He’s just about ready to give up when the ground below his feet gives way, and he drops a solid five feet, straight down. The birds fly past him, but Nico can imagine well enough the way they must be winging back this way, fully prepared to dive into the earth itself to get at him.

A frantic look around tells him he’s probably landed in some forgotten ruin - the cellar, maybe, of a house that’s no longer standing. The good news is, barring the single ray of light that’s filtering down through the hole in the earth, the entire, dusty room is nothing but shadows.

Nico flings himself out of the light and into the darkness, just as he hears the cawing of the Stymphalian birds growing louder. He’s not thinking anything but _safe, safety, take me somewhere safe, just get me_ away…

The inky darkness flashes past hm, ice-cold and searing, and then all at once he stumbles out of the shadows with a pained gasp, tripping over his own feet. The room he’s in is dark - it’s full night here, wherever he is; he can see a crescent moon peeking through the window.

He hopes it’s a safe place, because he’s done, he’s completely spent, and he crumples to the ground with a faint whimper, which is when he hears a muffled thump.

When he looks up, Percy Jackson is standing in front of him, Riptide held in a ready position.

“Nico?” he asks, disbelieving, and Nico feels his cheeks grow hot. He sneaks a better look at his surroundings, and… there’s a desk, and a bookshelf, and a bed. Presumably, the bed in question belongs to Percy. Oh gods, of all the places to have sent himself…

“Nico,” Percy says again, dropping to his knees to take a look at him. In the dim, cold moonlight, Nico can see a worried expression on his face. “What _happened_ to you - are you all right?”

“Stymphalian birds,” Nico chokes out. “I’m fine, I just - there weren’t any shadows, it took me awhile to get away.” He tries to push himself to stand, not wanting Percy to see him so weak and pathetic, but his knee buckles as he straightens, accompanied by a brutal pain lancing up his thigh, right where the feather is. Percy catches him under his elbow, carefully helping him upright.

“C’mon,” Percy says nicely. “I’ve got some ambrosia, we’ll fix you up.”

“You don’t have to,” Nico tries to protest, but his words are empty, and they both know it. Nico’s a mess, and he doesn’t have the juice right now for another shadow jump.

Percy leads him into a kitchen - Nico recognizes it, suddenly, from the few previous times he’s been here. They must be at Percy’s mother’s house - Nico had just assumed he was in Percy’s cabin at Camp Half-blood. The realization makes his face burn brighter, worried he’s revealed his hand in a truly mortifying way. He thought he’d managed to send himself to camp, at least, figuring it had been just unfortunate coincidence that he’d ended up in Percy’s cabin. 

Sending himself to _Percy_ specifically is about a thousand times more mortifying.

Nico tries to keep quiet as Percy sees to his injuries. He squeezes his eyes shut as Percy gently eases the Stymphalian feathers from where they’ve punctured his skin, but he can’t help the cut-off groans and a high, tight cry when Percy finally digs one feather out from underneath his shoulder blade.

“Sorry,” Percy says shakily. He looks nervous, his face pale, his lips pressed tightly together. Nico thinks he’s probably not used to being the one to do the patching up.

“It’s fine,” Nico grits. “Just - just finish.”

Once he’s removed all the feathers, Percy wets a clean towel with warm water and carefully cleans Nico’s various cuts and scrapes. It’s almost worse than when he was dealing with the feathers, because like this, Percy is quiet and close. Nico can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and he’s fairly certain that if he weren’t so exhausted and in so much pain, there would be a pretty humiliating situation on the horizon.

“Okay,” Percy finally says, stepping away from him, though he doesn’t go far. Nico shifts, uncomfortable with just how piercing Percy’s gaze is. “Did I miss anywhere?”

“No,” Nico says quickly, eager to be finished with this. “Thanks.”

Percy smiles, looking relieved, then hands him the ambrosia. Nico bites off a corner, closing his eyes blissfully as a healing warmth spreads all through him. It tastes like homemade pasta, swimming in rich tomato sauce, one of the few meals he remembers from when he was a kid.

Once he’s finished, he hops off the kitchen table, feeling much, much better, like he might possibly be up for one more shadow jump - to Camp Halfblood, at least, since it’s not too far away.

“Nope,” Percy says, like he’s reading Nico’s mind. “You’re sleeping here tonight.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Nico says. “Percy - ”

“Non-negotiable,” Percy says stubbornly; he’s got that look in his eyes that pretty clearly says he isn’t going to listen to whatever argument Nico’s about to make. “You need to rest. Head back to my room, you can have my bed. I’ll take the couch. And if I find out you’ve shadow traveled out of here in the middle of the night, I’ll hunt you down myself, got it?”

Nico’s mouth twists, decidedly unhappy with this turn of events, but Percy just folds his arms across his chest and gives him a steely look.

“Whatever,” Nico mutters, but Percy looks much happier as he makes his way to Percy’s bedroom, which is still dark, and to Percy’s bed, which is warm and unforgivably inviting.

Percy, thankfully, says goodnight and closes the door, giving Nico some privacy to strip down to his boxers and his undershirt. When he crawls into Percy’s bed, he has to swallow down a moan. The sheets are soft and worn, and everything _smells_ like Percy, and Nico is pretty sure this is a far worse torture than death by Stymphalian birds.

For all he likes to tell himself he’s completely over Percy Jackson, deep down, he knows that’s not the case. It probably won’t ever be true; he doesn’t think Percy Jackson is the sort of someone you actually get over.

It’s that unwelcome thought that stays in his mind as he drifts to sleep, thoroughly burrowed in Percy’s covers.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [sidekickinit](http://sidekickinit.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


End file.
